Connected
by Sarah Kennedy
Summary: Pilot dies. What will the crew of Moya have to do to survive?
1. Discovery

Crichton raced into Pilot's Den, stopping short at the sight of the purple creature sitting there. He couldn't begin to describe the destruction that death had wreaked upon Pilot's body, watching the hard exoskeleton slowly crumble into nothingness, blown away by the ventilation fans. Shell and lumpy flesh remained, piled in a shapeless heap.

It had all gone so quickly. One day Pilot was fine, with no knowledge of the disease coursing through his body, and the next… Crichton ran a hand along a curved section of claw. They were left with this. Pilot was dead. And that meant…

He spun around as the sound he had been hearing all along but until now, hadn't noticed penetrated his awareness. Moya was groaning in agony, lost and terrified without her Pilot. The sound of raw grief echoed through the chamber, bouncing over the walls and washing over the remains of her guide.

"It's going to be okay," Crichton shouted, wondering if she could hear him at all. "I promise, we're going to fix it." He ran a hand along Pilot's station, trying to convey some measure of comfort to the suffering ship. "We're going to fix it."

He didn't tell her that he had no bloody idea how.


	2. Plan

"Well, it's obvious," Aeryn said. "Moya needs a new Pilot."

"Oh yeah, because that's going to be so easy to accomplish," Rygel drawled sarcastically.

"Aeryn's right, was need a new Pilot, and fast," said D'Argo.

"Well, may I point out that you can't exactly buy a replacement Pilot at a gas station, and we are on the run from the Peacekeepers?" Crichton looked between all of them standing around the table in Command, trying to find an idea that was actually practical.

"Talyn accepted Stark as his Pilot," Aeryn said suddenly. "Stark was linked to Talyn in full capacity as a Pilot. One of us could become Moya's Pilot."

"But Talyn hadn't had a Pilot before." Crichton shook his head. "He hadn't been… I don't know… conditioned or whatever."

"I have Pilot's DNA in me."

Heads snapped round to stare at Aeryn. "No," said Crichton flatly. "No way. We'll find another plan. You are not doing that."

"And why not?" she railed, bristling at his attempt to keep her safe.

Crichton didn't voice his fear of losing her, the wounds that would never heal if she was taken away from him. He just said, "Because it's stupid. And it won't work."

"How do you know?" Rygel said. "It's not like you're the one who's half-Pilot anyway. I say she does it."

"There you are," said Aeryn, striding out of Command. Crichton ran after her and caught her by the arm.

"And just where do you think you're going?" he ground out.

"Pilot's Den," she answered, as though it was obvious. "My Den." She smiled at the idea and broke Crichton's hold on her.

"Aeryn," he tried again, blocking her path once more. "Have you even thought about this? Do you even know what it would mean?"

"It's something every pilot dreams of, Crichton; to be actually mentally connected with your ship. I know it's not the same as flying a Prowler, but it's flying. That's one of the things I miss about the Peacekeepers, flying. And this is my chance to do it again, and you are not going to stop me." Passion burned in her eyes, anger tensing her body. Crichton stepped aside numbly and followed her down the passage.

"But you're not doing it alone," he said, trying to fight off the urge to knock her out and keep her away. But she wanted to do this, and he wanted her to be happy. He was just afraid that she wouldn't know the meaning of happy if she became a Pilot. It was different in so many ways than being a person; to be mentally joined with another living being, especially one like Moya, would change Aeryn so much as to make her unrecognisable.

But he didn't have any better ideas.

He followed her through the ship, just watching her, trying to engrave this image of her into his memories – her determination, her selflessness, her loyalty. Remembering her striding down the corridors, hair swinging back and forth behind her shoulders. Possibly – and he wouldn't admit even to himself how much it terrified him – the last memories he would ever have of Aeryn Sun.


	3. Connection

Aeryn stood before the ruined husk of Pilot's body, staring at the mess of exoskeleton and decaying flesh. She stepped over the boards into the space within, delicately skirting the fringes of Pilot's remains. She brushed a hand over the dull and blotched shell. Grief for Pilot would come later, she knew; right now the need to solve the problem, to complete the objective was too immediate to feel anything else. Crichton followed her silently, keeping his distance. She knew he was unhappy with her, and part of her wanted to listen to him and let somebody else fix this, but she had a duty to Moya and her shipmates, and the priority was to save them, and not let her own feelings get in the way. Some small thing inside her feared that she wouldn't even have feelings after this, that she would be changed so much that she wouldn't have anything left of her.

Aeryn shrugged off her reluctance and picked up one of the tendrils lying among the chaos; it was one of many of Moya's links with Pilot. Feeling somewhat stupid, she laid it down against her wrist. Somehow, the end slid downwards through Aeryn's skin and into the bones and muscles. Aeryn jerked as though shocked; Crichton wrapped an arm behind her to hold her up. She paused, and then sighed happily and dreamily.

_Aeryn_

Aeryn's eyes spun back in her head as she communicated with Moya, each linked directly into the mind of the other.

_everything wrong my pilot gone why lonely can't move pilot gone_

Moya didn't talk to her so much as think to her; Aeryn heard a voice, but only holding together the threads of images and smells and memories, and less tangible things – pure thoughts. She felt Moya's emotions instead of simply hearing her say the words; and she saw a representation of Pilot disappear to communicate his loss. It went so far beyond, transcended everything else Aeryn ever experienced, made everything else seem so insignificant. The only thing worth any thought at all was Moya, this ancient, magnificent beast that all of them called their home, and yet had no idea of the span of her mind.

_Aeryn_

The thought spread out, images and feelings, and the coherent word all making the experience of simply talking completely archaic and incomplete.

_Moya, please listen to me._

Aeryn struggled to communicate in the infinite dimensions of Moya's thoughts, still shamefully reliant on words. She felt Moya's fear and panic, trying to understand why her Pilot was gone and this strange creature in its place.

_Moya, Pilot is dead. Without a Pilot, you cannot keep us alive._

_no can't die you don't want not fair don't want you to die_

_I need you to take me as your Pilot. _Aeryn thought that sentence twice; it was imperative that Moya understand. _I will keep the crew alive and be a part of you. Will you let me be your Pilot?_

_Aeryn Pilot no not right can't work WRONG_

Aeryn panicked. If Moya wouldn't accept her as the Pilot – or any of them – Moya wouldn't be able to keep them alive. The systems that sustained the organisms living within the Leviathan were totally under the control of the Pilot, especially since Moya had had a Pilot for so long – once, she would have been able to operate those systems herself, but she had forgotten how. She needed a Pilot to do that for her.

_Moya, without a Pilot, everyone will die. You need someone to operate the systems that support them. Let me do that. I'm the only one who can._

_part of me you can't not Pilot wrong hurts_

_I have Pilot's DNA in me, I'm sure it will work. This much has, hasn't it?_

_yes will take Pilot you want Pilot help connect now you my Pilot_

Light flooded Aeryn's mind, joy spilling out over the sides into Moya's. She was going to be a Pilot. Crichton, D'Argo, everybody would be safe. And she would have this incredible experience, the connection with Moya, that already she knew she could never give up. She smiled mentally at Moya, loving the feel of the great, beautiful creature reaching out to her and taking her to be part of what she was. Slowly, the feel of her individual body receded and she could no longer feel Crichton holding her up, or the damp air of the Den. All she knew was that her consciousness was being joined to Moya's in a way that she couldn't come close to comprehending, but she wanted it more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life.

Tendrils sprung up from Pilot's body, lashing out and wrapping themselves around Aeryn. Crichton shouted out in panic and alarm, jerking back. Slowly he brought himself under control; Aeryn must have been successful, Moya was connecting the umbilicals into Aeryn's body. Aeryn was going to be a Pilot. Crichton sighed. It was typical Aeryn, the self-sacrifice and absolute conviction that the worst way was the only way. Longing and terror spun through him at the thought of losing Aeryn to Moya, the fear that what little feelings she had for him now would be lost. A tear wove down his cheek as he brushed the beautiful hair he loved so much away from her face, watching it spasm alternatively in pain and something approaching ecstasy. It was agony to see the joy and glory in her face, the obvious delight, even unconscious, at becoming part of Moya and leaving everything else behind like it was nothing.

"I love you," he breathed, staring intently into the proud, striking face for some sign of recognition. "I need you to come back to me." A lump caught in his throat, unshed tears swam in his eyes. "Please, baby, you have to come back. I know you need to do this, I know you're doing it to save us, but I can't live without you. You're saving me just by being here." He held her close to him, whispering into her unhearing ear – "Come back. Come back. Come back…"


	4. Losing Her

Clarity returned to Aeryn in a ringing burst, waves of sense and reason washing away the chaos of joining Moya. She felt again; knew that she was herself, but linked with Moya as her Pilot.

She was Pilot.

Irritation spiked her awesome realization and delight – someone was talking to her. She didn't need to talk to communicate with Moya; she just thought. No, it was an even higher level than thought, more like the beginnings of thought, the conceptualizations before they were twisted down into anything as restricted as thought. She slowly remembered how to talk – how useless and lowly that seemed – and spoke.

"Will you please be quiet?"

"Aeryn?" said a voice, surprised and alarmed. "Is that you? Are you okay? How do you feel?"

"I asked for quiet," she croaked, working her way out of his arms – he was holding her? – and turning to face him. Cords and tendrils hung around her like a halo, a cloud of her links with Moya. She knew him merely as an inhabitant of Moya, one that Moya trusted dearly. That meant a lot to Pilot, but not everything. He wasn't anything to her, not a friend, not a companion. He was along for the ride, and it was Pilot's job to keep him and the others alive. That was all.

"Aeryn, what's happened?"

"I am part of Moya now, I am her Pilot." She lost interest in the man and turned to the boards, watching with new eyes the progress of the panels lifting and dropping. She reached out and pressed one herself, feeling the power and complete control. She knew everything they could do, all the indecipherable patterns and sequences to guide Moya through the vastness of space. It was Pilot's job to know these systems, and she did; she relished in it, enjoyed the absolute certainty and elegance.

"But you're still Aeryn, yeah? Still you?"

"I am Pilot," she said, annoyance rising. Would he never desist? "Moya's Pilot."

"And what about me… us?"

"The unit 'us' is inaccurate," she corrected. "I am Pilot. You are an inhabitant of Moya. We are separate. There cannot be an us." She wondered at his reaction, at the sob that leaked from him before he smothered it, at the distraught expression across his face. Vaguely she remembered that he had been her friend, and maybe something more, before her change. But that was irrelevant now. Pilot belonged to Moya, and had no time for anyone else in the way that her old self had. She watched the man go, then turned away and began to control the ship.

Crichton staggered into his room, barely making it past the threshold before collapsing to the floor. Agony and loss ate away inside his chest, tearing out his heart and shattering it to atoms. Aeryn was gone. Pilot, as she now called herself, didn't even know who he was, much less cared. Emptiness spun away into the black void of his feelings, and by far the worst was the knowing that every time he had to talk to Aeryn, every time he saw Aeryn, it wouldn't be her looking out at him.


End file.
